Everything...

The noise was stifled amongst the crowd

Blaring horns and sirens of the city night

Yet, silence seemed to disturb my ears. 

You were there, a ghost, a memory

Striving not to be seen, but only

Your face an unfading memory.

Grayish and blurred, without a colour of your own 

Blending and merging past, a mere shadow

Past buildings and vast unheeded creations

I followed you, nay, the memory of you. 

Flashing signals amongst the caverns
Of a rule bidden world,

Forbid me to not follow thou, 

Yet, I pass them unheeded;

Cold and brash in the night air, 

Along along in this mechanical misery called life, 

A fool was I,  in this jaded sense of attachment. 

Soon, or late, my soul  i searched, 

For a reason, to stumble along this path outstretched;

Upon a starved heart and a broken memory

And the drowning wilderness of lone...

I realized, let go, yet shall it never leave?  

Peace, love, and a faint memory
A lone glitter of cognizance in this little something,  

That you're my purpose, you're everything...

Untitled

         A narrow beam of light spread across home as the sun came out from the caverns of darkness. It passed through the windows illuminating shades of motionless dust. A set of open books lay unattended on the table along with a broken pair of spectacles, a rusted kerosene lamp and bottles that held garlands of cobwebs and torrents of dust. They cast long shadows on the long, aged, oak table.

      She tossed around in her bed trying to catch those last few moments of sleep before it would fade out to her daily routine… She’d never been able to sleep at night. She had never known why. “This isn’t home for me”, she thought like she does every morning, pushing aside her bed covers and wiping the sleep out of her eyes.

         It was still quite early in the morning as she stood outside home, ready to go for work. The home was pretty well placed upon a hill top, rocky, yet, the steep was gradual. From behind the hills still covered with fog, at far sight the sun stood gleaming. She walked down, staring about absent mindedly at the colourful flowers that grew aside the narrow path. The world was beautiful from up here. The violet, the yellow, the blue… The colours were endless… On and on they swayed and rustled in the wind as she continued to walk downhill…

        “Where had she to go?” She had to constantly remind herself. She had been lost in a world of her own. She walked all the way to her office, bracing herself for the hustle and bustle of the day. It had always been an irksome job to be an insurance provider company clerk. She’d wander away when people would go on blabbing about what all they didn’t get. That it was no benefit at all. She was used to all sorts of people: angry, agitated, miserable, uninterested, over enthusiasts and lots more. She was so used to being thwarted at, never even expecting a bit of gratitude from anybody…

          She had been late, yet no one was at the office. Twisting the keys into the lock of the front door, she picked up the morning newspaper. It had been tattered and several pages had been torn off. "Great" She said to herself. The door creaked as if it hadn’t been opened for decades. She walked the narrow corridor down to her seat. Seated at her chair, under a forever rattling fan she turned through the rest of the pages of the newspaper; Politics, accidents and never ending advertisements… Why had life become so useless?

         She went back to her usual absent mindedness; roaming far down her memory lane. Her childhood, her schooling years had been so beautiful. Her parents and her annoying brothers, she thought of them. Her dad had always been her best pal, yet, among the family she always kept a happy, strong face on the outside. She hid the softer side of herself from them.

         Those were things years ago… Every weekend had been a party… Uncles, friends, cousins, nephews, neighbours, everybody used to join in to sing, play card games, caroms and the children had their own set of games. Even those group prayers were so wonderful. It would be birthday celebrations, farewell parties or just warm get-together’s on Christmas Eve’s. “Why had they all loved her so much?” she thought. Her brothers were such big pests, running around pulling her hair, kicking her and beating her up. She would do nothing in return except scream to mama. Mom, she’d always been lovingly stern.

        Her friends at school, the way they’d loved her for bossing them around. The boys who had always been big brats, always into teasing and senseless talk, they would often turn up with reasons to simply say “I love u”. They would just do anything to see her smile. She wished she could be there again; back where she knew how it felt to belong to someone. Back where she could hear her brother’s fighting, back to where she could hug on to her friends, back to where she would always be kissed goodnight…

        But she’d been living for them, her parents, working for them now. She reminisced the moments when she had to leave. Her ever fighting, quarrelling, yet loving brother’s stood speechless. Mom had been stern or was she crying? Dad? She didn’t even know how he felt. Her cousin sister, her really good pal had hugged her goodbye. Her uncles stood at the bus stop waving, one of them had not been there; he had left them all years ago. But he was always around in their hearts. She thought she’d seen him too, waving at her as she waved back until the clutches and gears of steel of that cruel bus carried her away.

She missed them; she missed them all so much…

“Madame…?”

She snapped out of her day dream, finding it hard to even find her voice.

“Yes…?” At last she managed.

It had been the security guard.

“Madame. Today is Christmas. Why have you come?”

“Err… I had some urgent letters to pick up to check them at home.” She blurted out suddenly realizing that she’s walked in to office on a holiday. The man nodded and walked away. He stopped half way down the corridor, smiled at her and said, “Merry Christmas Madame. You should go home.” She smiled weakly in return. She somehow felt thankful to this speck of kindness. After he was gone, she silently stood up from her desk, flinging the newspaper aside.

         Her home, her life had been so lifeless, so terribly aimless, and so lone. Memories broke over her again as she walked on crying, past long streets, past homes with large Christmas trees past mom’s guiding little children through the busy street…

       As she walked uphill to her home, she took notice of the pleasant sky, the beautiful flowers, and their modified colours in the setting sun. “Its true that it’s the mind that colours the eyes”, she thought. Everything felt like a dream. She seated herself below a tree; the air had been so sweet. Silently, she lay down on the cool ground, her head resting against the flowers. She stared up at the sky and a large tear drop fell from above. She continued to stare above her as it started to drizzle. For a moment, she felt like she had gone back several years, to the good old times.

        A few moments later she stood up, comfortably wet but not yet drenched. “This is nature’s love for me”, she thought. Walking back, she opened her door. She sat down on her bed wiping her face in a ragged towel. The sun cast a dusky saffron colour into the room. The windows glistened in the light. It lingered for a few more minutes as little by little the light pulled away and it went all dark.

       She walked over to the wardrobe searching for something in the darkness. Grabbing something in her hand, she silently walked over to her table. Moving out the cobwebs and rusty utensils, she placed the candle she’d found, onto an overturned jam bottle. In the silence, it sounded more like an explosion as she lit a match. Lizards, spiders shifted away noiselessly. She wanted to wake up from the sleep she’d been in for years. Gingerly, the candle’s wick caught fire. Staring at its bright light, her face broadened to a smile. She was beautiful. She looked at herself in an age tinted mirror; her eyes twinkling with tears… She whispered to herself, “Merry Christmas…”

The Survivor's Tale...

           They say rules are just guidelines, not mandatory. I think so in my country, India, but I follow the same rules when I’m in some other country. We just get used to things here.

Every morning I’m driving to work and I have no road to drive on. No it wasn’t an earthquake but just the monsoons! I’m used to taking my car around the gutters. The signals posts don’t work. Jesus, they just fixed the damn thing! No problem, we’re used to seeing hand signals from the good old traffic guy anyway. And he vanishes at lunch time with no one to take his place till a few hours. Nah, that’s ok. We’ll manage pal.  I see people hanging onto an overloaded bus. They enjoy their morning ride talking to their regular friends. They just got too used to it to complain.

Oh and yeah, the buses are the “best” I’ve even seen a driver needing an umbrella inside the bus during the monsoons 

                I’m driving on, we have over filled auto’s with school going children, 4 people on a single bike rushing like it’s the end of the world, we have people spitting pan and stuff on the roadside, we have traffic blocks caused coz of two people fighting over something probably silly like “you didn’t put the frigging indicator before turning. What was I supposed to do?” We have some bikers who are weirdly shaking their bikes staring into their tanks as though to look if the bike’s used every last drop of fuel. Not that he didn’t have cash to fill it up, he ain’t used to doing it till it gets over and he has to push it to the pump. 

                I get to the office. It’s 10:30. Oh, I’m not late. Office time starts from 10 to 11:30. Lunch time? 12:30 pm sharp! The power leaves as I come in. Aaah, don’t we just love the electricity board guys? Their power always fit the caption, “I came, I saw, I went” Oh yeah, I had a power failure last night at home too. I’m just used to sleeping without complaining all night and not even trying to call up the board guys. Some poor guy who drank 3/4^th of his brandy bottle and who chewed up some fuse wire for the side snack, would probably be asleep there. If I wake him, he’ll have to drink more to fall asleep and probably won’t have any more left to start his day the next morning. We care! 

                Don’t know if you have managed to be at our government offices. We just love doing things the hard way. To enter a page into a file on the table and give you a receipt, we ask you to come back a week later. “Hey, rules are rules, you know the drill.” Unless you have some extra pages (Rs: 500 plus) attached. We don’t accept credit” 

                Hmmm…  Now, was I missing something? Aah yes, we rip off foreigners. Overly charged taxi’s and auto’s, at clothes stores; you name it, we ripped you there too. Yes, that’s why we call ourselves being from the land of the Kama Sutra, We could screw you in more ways than you can possibly imagine! 

I am the Indian who watches on TV when something bad happens at some other corner of the country and thinks, “Oh, it didn’t happen to me”. I’m the Indian who keeps liking posts on fb about supporting Anna Hazare and “being proud of being an Indian” and “righteous Indignation”  and oh hey dude, “who was Anna Hazare btw?” :P

Are we done with the list of miseries?

Nope. This is the just the beginning…

But, I’m gonna stop there… 

Coz when I still think of my country, my chest swells with pride. Coz we’ve seen a harder life, we’ll thrive over any situation. We get by in life without depending on 911. Though we have riots and all sorts of stuff occasionally, I see my neighbor is not of my religion, but we get along well. I haven’t ever seen an army man all my life, except maybe on TV. But I have a sense of pride when I think about our army, not coz we can boast about borrowed technology from Russians or so. But because however they are,  I know they will keep us safe come what may.

                I cheer along with the others for India only on a cricket match. I woke up at 12pm on Independence Day coz my boss gave us the day off. All I did was stick a small flag on my bike that day.  I'll tell you "I hate this country" 24/7, but I still love my country.  Everything is slow in our country, the technology, the PWD, the modernization, transport development (dead old buses and trains), urbanization… Almost everything is slow…  Just seeing the crazy buses, driving on the bumpy roads (gutters), waiting in line in offices, paying bribes, sleeping without power at night (oh I bought a generator), we’re just used to it…. Alongside all these things, we’ve learned to live on, learned to still be happy, aren’t we? We’re not right, we know that,  but we’re in the process of making it right. I’ll tell you this; it ain’t easy being an Indian. We just know that life is too short to spend complaining...  If you aren’t happy here, you don’t have to stay. Be happy elsewhere, that’s what really matters right?   

You tend to tell your mom that she’s old fashioned, that she’s not smart with the computer. You quarrel with her for nagging you about things; get mad at her for not being modern… Sometimes she never changes, she never understands, but you still love her don’t ya? It’s the same for us with India. She ain’t the best, but we belong to her… 

From the heart of an Indian, Jai Hind…!

     

The need manifestation...

A mother sits alone staring blankly at the television. Her children in far off countries are busy in their lives. She calls her best friend after her husband goes for work. The other side of the call is a similar mother. They talk for hours everyday about old memories, about how life had changed; for at least a few hours everyday till late afternoon when she had to go to the kitchen and make something for herself. Then she'd get to televisions serials to fill the emptiness of her life...

Who said happiness resided in a settled life, a two storey home, with kids in good positions somewhere...?

***

A girl calls her childhood friend every now and then. Hiding behind a pretext of sisterly feelings, she can't really explain what she feels for him. Persistent text messages and sweet wordings, something about him filled a void somewhere in her life. Along the years she cant remember having laughed out heartily... A broken heart somewhere along the way, an always complaining mom to prove herself to... Memories of a dad lingering on... A fiance who always suspected her of being with someone else...  She was out to right the labyrinth that had befallen her, trying not to follow her sister's footsteps into divorce, trying to hide from everyone, her perfect life...

She calls him again for some attention, love, care... She knew it wasn't right.

Is it any good trying to tel her that she needed to get a grip over herself? 

***

A guy walks along the sidewalk... The rain drenching him but he doesn't notice the sun going down in practiced bravado, the cars rushing by in herds of confusion... He remembers his girl, every face reminds him of her. Random things in conversations brings her into his mind. He loved her, he had a million reasons why. He tried to treat her right, tried to care, tried to love. He was probably clingy as she was all he had had. He made a few mistakes so she turned and walked away from his life... He goes flirting with others, jumps into relationships, just to fill the void that she's left him with...

Would it be enough to tell him to forget her and move on, though that's the only choice...?

***

A father reaches home after work. There's a grimness about his face. His life was settled, his future secure. He loved his wife, but they never talked more than necessary. They sat by the television, rarely talking or even noticing each other. They never joked or had discussions over the dinner table, even when their children were at home.

What was missing? What was this emptiness that engulfed him as he sat by the tv, puffing a cigarette. 

***

A girl sat by the window sill watching the rain outside. She had parents worried about her marriage and future.  Almost so much that she could feel them breathe down her neck. She never had the freedom to decide what to do, all her life. Someone always drew the line for her and she just walked on abiding to it. The same fate followed her here. She was tired of being single though, with a lot of guys trying to hit on her, all the while being scared that she might fall for someone and be hurt later. She knew she wasn't ready, she never was... How was she gonna find that right person? What if everything went wrong after she got married?

Would someone call her as being overly thoughtful? 

***

A new student walks into the classroom. He tries his best to mingle with everyone, to be frank and open. All the while, the girls brand him a flirt and guys call him a wannabe. He came home everyday over the years wondering why he had to be the odd one out... All the while, all he wanted was just some acceptance...

Would you too say the words that "It takes two hands to clap and make the sound", in a way that something about him was wrong too?  

***

You've probably been there somewhere, along the paragraphs above. We are all needy in our own ways, though we have never been able to bear the needy one's in our life. We often blame people for what they failed to do in their lives, sometimes we just don't understand. Sometimes we just won't try... I guess we've all felt similar things, needed someone to talk to, wished we were someone else so that we could have done things differently, wished that somehow things were different from what it turned out to be...

Does it suffice to pat yourself on the shoulder and say, It's just gonna be alright...? 

                                                                               ***Motivation: Rajiv C. K. Menon

The miles bygone...

           The rain was mighty. But it wouldn’t dampen the spirits of the children running home after school. The elderly stood by the bus stop trying to talk sense into the tiny tots, their cheery faces contorting in reply.I was headed home, after a long while. The home coming of a warrior, or so it felt. I took a few moments to fill my heart with the happiness around me. Buses passed in the lightning speed, yet the kids took no notice. They prefered walking, a single umbrella only partially sheilding a herd of them rushing with glee. The songs they sang weren’t great ones but it seemed like the rain rhymed along, the smell of the freshly wet earth blended in and the cool breeze that made earth just feel like heaven.

                There I was, at a coffee shop, sipping coffee while iron clad asbestos kept the rain from coming in and a warm kerosene lamp birghtened the darkened interiors. I watched the thoughtful elders around me, each in their own world of thoughts, of wants, desires and unfulfilled wishes, of races to win, of families to feed… They had come a long way in life, onrounte to the seven ages as Shakespeare had said…

                Home seemed more than welcome, the rain had stayed all along my journey. I stood by the gates, breathing in the fresh homely air.  Memories hung in from the interiors of home, waiting to cling to me. My presence was known, I could feel it. I could see things left outside by my bro’s little baby who had just recently learnt to walk and loved to hide things in lonely corners of home. I remembered how my dad would take her out to the veranda to show her the rain. She would chuckle as the little drops of rain fell into her hands. She would then look at my dad and smile with glee. And like children, they both would walk around the house, with their own languages to communicate and her tender fist cozy in the warmth of his age hardened hand. She would be delighted in the colour of a leaf, or the smell of a flower, the brightness of the sun shading light into her room in the morning. Sometimes I wonder, over the years as we grew, all that’s happened is that we’ve stopped finding happiness in small things...

The raindrops now bounced around like little rubber balls trying hard to reach me as I sat by the threshold of my home. It was fun to play “catch me if you can” with them. Nothing ever lasted forever, like the rain, like childhood, like the wonderful flowers that brightened my day…

Brevity… Life was always full of it. Maybe because dreams once true lose their charm, maybe because somethings are best left unsaid, some wishes best left unfulfilled…  I thought to myself, as the rain echoed away behind me, “The miles were eternal, not just the miles to come, but the miles bygone… “

We'll meet again...

The asphalt shivered nervously as cars sped away. The moon was a mere echo of itself tonight. It was cold, steam rising from the sewers grates like all of hell lay beneath it. After almost two years in Saudi Arabia, I was finally going home to India for vacation. It was weird, for people usually go for vacation to places other than home. But we expatriates had that luck. Two months in a year or a couple of years, pack up, go home... Saudi had always been another home too...

I had promised my nephew that I'd get him an mp3 player. Though it felt like something that happened in my last life or so, I still remembered telling him I won't forget. It had to be the night before and past midnight for me to remember it. There I was standing by the pavement for a cab to come along. Not every cab guy could be trusted at that time of the night, I could be robbed. Secretly I wished an Indian came by.

It started raining as I thumbed down a taxi and just jumped in. To my relief he was an Indian. He started off with a decent Hindi asking me where I had to go. I told him the need of the hour and we were cruising through the night, talking. Though my hindi wasn't so great, I could communicate and we got in quick rapport. It was important for me to get what my nephew wanted and he treated it more important than I did. We passed by most of the malls near my place and all of them were closed by the hour. We sat thinking about where to go next. He suggested another place but I was short of cash to go that far. He said it I could pay him the rest someday when we'd meet again. "Duniya bahut chotti hain saab..." (The world is really small sir). Hoping I could adjust the money buying a cheaper player, I agreed.

It was about a half hour drive. He kept mentioning that the mall we were headed too had everything anyone could possibly want. ("Duniya ki har cheez jo hain, vo aapko vahan millega") He was keen on trying to understand what an Mp3 player was or what it did. When I mentioned my nephew, he showed me a picture of his wife and a year old baby boy. He had come for work 13years ago and never seen them since. He told me there was some new thing that you could sit in front of a screen and see people who are far away. Though I knew he meant video chat, I pretended to be someone who didn't know much. I guess I wanted to get his picture of the world...

We talked a lot. About corrupt politicians... About riots.... About the Indians winning against Pakistan in a recent cricket match.... About how Pakistani's were wrecking peace in India.... I wasn't ever so patriotic, but I guess, going home the next day and having an Indian guy nearby inspired some spirit. We finally reached where we were headed. Yeah, he was right, you could probably get everything you'd ever want. He offered to shop with me. He looked about in awe at all the gadgets. We kept talking about things, like we were friends for ages. He seemed to like the Mp3 player, saying he would take one for his son when he got the next chance to go. "Kahin jayenge to bore nahi honge"  (You won't get bored if you have one when you're going somewhere), he said. I smiled at his innocence.

He was silent on the way home. After a while he said, he wanted to take a ticket and go back to see his family. Adding in an undertone that he would think the same every day all these years, worrying if something would happen if its late. ("Har din yeh sochtha hoon ki ghar jaaoon... Agar der hoga tho kya hoga") I didnt know what to say. He feared the wars and worried about their safety. They will be fine, I tried to tell him.We turned a corner and we were minutes away from home. I opened my purse and counted what I had. I had compromised on the player so I had enough to pay him. I figured I had little extra.

I stepped out of the car, handing him the money which he pocketed without counting. He said it was fine. We shook hands and I told him I was from Kerala and in an after thought asked him where he belonged. "Pakistan", he said with a smile and departed. Standing by the pavement, I wondered why our countries fought wars and were at each others throats when we regular people never felt any differences from each other.

I walked home with a smile, happy that I had paid him the little extra I had.

Lost...

                The gate seemed wobbly, wanting to submit to gravity as he pushed it open. The soil was moist from recent rains. A small pathway led to a courtyard. The courtyard held the remnants of a fountain and the flooring which was once marble, now betrayed dirt and undergrowth. The dilapidated remains of a home gleamed in the faint moonlight. The front door didn’t seem to be locked. It simply fell off its hinges as he opened it, crashing into the ground. The smell of rot was prominent. “This was home to someone once”, he thought.  

                He lit a match, watching the darkness shift away from where he stood. Finding a candle on the mantelpiece, he tried to light it. Gingerly the wick caught fire. Placing it on a small table, he sat beside it. The light in the room shifted as the breeze disturbed the flame. The darkness was like flowing water, shifting and flowing, hither and thither. The shoes that lay beside a gnawed welcome mat indicated that a couple lived there. He could hear soft voices, past conversations echoing in the hallway. He related to the voices instantly.

                The staircase led upstairs. The ebony handrail seemed to hold remnants of her soft touch as she would come down the stairs welcoming her husband after work, her feet slowly imprinting itself on each stair. The side walls held photo frames that were no longer clear. Carrying another lit candle along, he walked up the stairs. The bedroom still held remains of a livid chandelier and a huge bed. Her favorite teddy stood on the bedpost, holding a heart that said “I love you”. It was his gift on their anniversary. A mirror held a small picture of them stuck to a corner, her eyes were still a twinkle, he remembered. The wardrobe held their favorite clothes, now torn and moth eaten. A fallen cradle lay to a corner of the room, amidst broken, scattered toys.

               He remembered how he had hugged her every day before leaving for work. The smell of her hair filling his heart, the smile on her face while they kissed, the cute frown on her brow when he said he might be late. The late Sunday afternoon’s when they spent their time walking in the courtyard below, when the afternoon sun would glow like her pretty cheeks every time they kissed. It was all lost. Was it a mistake, was there something he did wrong, he did not remember. But he had loved her, forever.         

                This was his home once. He remembered. This was their dream once. This was his family. She was his love. They had lived years in this beautiful dream. Sometimes when you wake from a dream, it simply is dark and bare. Sometimes your life can take the color off your dreams, can crush beautiful flowers to lifeless nothingness; can change beautiful homes to dark dilapidated structures rotting in the undergrowth…

                                The thunder roared outside as he began to descend the stairs. He felt as though he was not welcome anymore. A million memories dragged his mind like photographs under those garlands of cobwebs. The Dry leaves crunched under his feet as he trod away from home. The gate didn’t seem to want to protect his dream home anymore. The rain got heavier but he walked on, looking back at home every once in a while. He had nowhere to go, no paths to follow, and no dreams to hold on to…

              It was not just about living forever. The trick was about living with oneself forever. The roads stretched on to fearful eternity, the rumble of the shifting gravel under his feat, echoing away into the distance…